Reeducation
by Emmy-loo
Summary: Alex is being reassigned because Mrs. Jones thinks he needs to be taught a lesson. Will he be able to train a class full of teenagers to become his successors, or will he manage to kill himself first?
1. Chapter 1

Well, guys, I just got back from a week-long vacation with no internet access last night, and what do I do? I rush to type this and get it out of my head. The idea has really grabbed my attention, and it wouldn't leave me alone. I'm not sure how long it will be yet, but don't look for the end anytime soon! Hope you like it. (I know it's short, but this is just the intro chapter.)

* * *

"I'm sure you know why you're here, Alex," she said, her fingers folded atop the highly polished desk. He was sitting across from her, sprawled lazily in the chair.

He didn't answer. She hadn't expected him to. Over the years, he had stopped responding to much other than direct questions.

"There have been several minor... incidents in the past, but none of them merited disciplinary action. This, however... this is a different story entirely. To be honest, Alex, I'm surprised."

And she was. She had thought Alex Rider incapable of such things. But then, she pondered, a person could change a lot in four years, especially when that person just happened to be an agent for one of the most covert intelligence divisions that currently existed in the world.

"May I ask what possessed you?" she asked, unwrapping a new peppermint and placing it into her mouth.

"The mission objective is of the utmost importance. Never risk the success of the mission objective for anything," he said, bored. It was a word-for-word recitation of a line from the handbook that all agents got when they first started to work for MI:SO. Alan had warned her that he would likely use it to defend himself.

"That may be so, Alex, but the handbook counts on the fact that agents will still posses proper moral conduct," she countered. The flavor of the peppermint had always helped her to stay focused, something she needed in difficult meetings such as these, where Alex could easily direct the conversation elsewhere.

"The success of the mission was at stake. I ensured that the objective was completed, simple as that." Alex wasn't looking at her. He wasn't avoiding her gaze, really, but looking out of the window behind her to the gloomy skyline. He looked bored. His eyes had no life in them.

She tasted the peppermint again before she continued. "That man had a family, Alex. A wife of three years and a newborn daughter named Sarah. His death was one hundred percent avoidable."

For the first time, she saw emotion flicker across his face. The mention of the family had been a calculated risk. On one hand, it could trigger the emotions she needed him to feel - regret, guilt, pain. On the other, it could make him very, very angry. The moment he began his next sentence, she knew that her gamble had failed.

"Jack's death was avoidable," he said, his voice growing in pitch, "and Tom's, and Sabina's, even Ms. Bedfordshire's. But I don't see you sitting down their murderers, lecturing them about _proper moral conduct_!" He was fairly spitting by now, but she was unfazed. The mint was still sharp on her tongue.

"Their deaths were regrettable, Alex, but your behavior is inexcusable. Disciplinary actions will be taken."

"Fine with me!" he said, crossing his arms over his chest, "Do your worst!"

"You'll wish later that you hadn't said that," she told him, watching as his eyes grew cold again. "Your punishment won't be like most. I have thought up something special for you. You won't push paper for a few months before you return to active duty, and you won't be enjoying a cushy surveillance job. I've got something much different planned for you, Alex, and I can guarantee that you won't enjoy it."


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Well it's been quite a while since I started this story, and I really love it, so I decided to update for you. Sorry about the length again, but it's looking like these are generally going to be short chapters. Thanks for the reviews!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.  
**

* * *

It happened in stages. Seeing the success rate and comparing it to agents twice his age, all of the higher ups in Military Intelligence: Special Operations agreed: they needed more agents like Alex Rider. There were obstacles, of course. There always were. But obstacles are meant to be overcome, and these men and women were intending to overcome them.

There was, of course, the problem of parental consent. That was easily solved by finding teenagers without parents, or, for that matter, guardians of any sort. It was also very helpful that teenagers without an adult influence in their lives were more likely to be reckless, unconcerned with consequences. As Alex Rider had shown in his determination to discover what was hidden in his uncle's office, these were quite admirable traits in a teenage spy.

They searched for nearly two years, and as they searched, Alex Rider himself grew colder. They paid him no mind, uninterested in the consequences of his career. They were only interested in replicating his success rate. They looked in foster care, on the streets, in juvenile prisons. Eventually, they found what they were looking for. Seven boys and four girls, this next crop of teenage spies were almost guaranteed success, thanks to a combination of intelligence, athleticism and determination.

Now all that was left was to find someone to teach them how to do their job. Preferably someone with experience in the area of espionage, someone who knew what these children would be heading into. Someone who would be able to teach them how to use their age to their advantage, and how to manipulate people into believing them.

And that was where Alex Rider came in.

* * *

They trickled into the room slowly, giving one another wary glances. She counted them as they entered. So far it was four boys, two other girls. No one spoke. She got the feeling that not one of them was particularly trusting; she had personally been sizing each of them up, seeing which ones she thought she could take and which ones she would try to be civil with. So far there was just one boy with dark red hair who was glaring at everyone menacingly that she thought she should steer clear of.

Now there were seven boys and three other girls. They sat as far away from one another as they could manage. The room itself was bare, underground and cold. It looked like a classroom, with the whiteboard at the front and several rows of desks, but there were no personal touches. It looked sterile under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights. There was a still silence in the room – none of them were tempted to talk.

Another boy entered, looking slightly older than most of the others that were sitting around Maggie. He was followed by a middle-aged woman carrying a clipboard and a large bundle of manila folders, who she assumed to be their teacher. However, the boy made his way to the front of the room and sat in the chair behind the desk, putting his feet on top of it. Everyone watched him, as if wondering, as Maggie was, what made him think he was better than they were.

The woman had not taken a seat. She cleared her throat, and when she opened her mouth, Maggie could see a white peppermint on her tongue. "Good morning," she said, looking over the room. "My name is Mrs. Jones. This is your teacher, Mr. Alex Rider." At this point, had they been in a regular classroom, rather than a place packed with strangers, fervent whispers would have broken out. As it was, everyone just stared at the boy - Rider, Maggie reminded herself.

He didn't look like anything special, she thought derisively. He couldn't be that much older than she was. His blond hair was cut close to his head, and his brown eyes scanned them quickly and judgmentally, showing no emotion. She could see the scars dotting his arms even from her seat. She wondered almost involuntarily what had caused them – she had been living on the streets for almost a year and had never seen anything like that before. It looked almost like a multitude of tiny knife wounds.

The woman – Mrs. Jones – took one last look around the room before walking up to the lonely teacher's desk up front. She put the files there with more force than was really necessary, Maggie thought, and turned to their teacher. Maggie supposed she meant to whisper, but in a place this silent it was as if she was standing right next to her.

"Remember, Alex," she said, "that you are here for three months no matter what. Don't assume you can just sit here the whole time. I'll be checking in."

"Yes ma'am," he said, with a mock salute, not bothering to whisper. His feet were still on the desk.

Mrs. Jones turned away quickly, and as she strode briskly from the room Maggie could see two spots of bright red on her cheeks. She filed that information away for later. This Alex Rider was a mystery that she was going to solve, and she got the feeling that Mrs. Jones was just the first piece in a very complicated puzzle.

She watched as he scanned them, finally removing his feet from the desk. He stood up quickly; with a move so fast that Maggie almost missed it. She blinked. She would have to learn that one.

"Hello, class," he said in a low voice. There was no need to speak any louder. His words already seemed to echo around the room as it was.

Behind her, she heard someone snort. With a raised eyebrow, Rider looked to the person sitting behind her. She turned around – it was that redheaded boy, the only one out of the lot she had decided she wouldn't like to cross.

"Is there something you would like to say to me, Mr. Wood?" he asked, moving between the desks, his shoes making no sound.

"Yeah," this Wood character said, unnecessarily loudly, standing up. "I do. What makes you think you're qualified to teach us anything? You can't be any older than I am."

Rider didn't blink. "I never said I was qualified for anything," he told him, walking straight up to him. Maggie saw that the closer Rider got, the less threatening Wood looked. She wondered who that reflected on – Wood's cowardice or Rider's aura of intimidation.

Rider didn't stop until the two of them were standing nose to nose. Wood didn't back down, but he sure looked a lot less confident now.

"Then why are you teaching us?" he asked Rider, his voice growing less and less petulant. Now he sounded genuinely curious.

Everyone in the room held their breath, waiting for his answer. He paused for a moment, and the tension in the room seemed to grow.

Finally, he answered. "I'm teaching you because I'm the only person who can. The world's first teenage spy, if you will. They came to me because I'm the only person in the world with enough experience to deal with you."

Wood's face grew dubious. "Experience?" he asked. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen," Rider replied without blinking. "Last month."

"And how the _hell _does that give you experience?" Wood asked, again growing snippy. Maggie internally spurred him on, knowing they would likely never get the answers otherwise.

Rider shrugged. "That's all you need to know," he said, cryptically. "Now sit down. I've got a lesson to start."

* * *

Review please?


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry about the delay on this one—I'll try to get them out faster. Please remember that this story is rated T for a reason. Hope you like it!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider**.

* * *

Wood sat down. A victory for Rider, Maggie thought. She took her eyes off of the angry-looking boy and turned back to the front of the room, where Rider had taken a seat behind the teacher's desk. He put his feet back on the desk.

"Do any of you know why you're here?" he asked, after a brief pause. Maggie saw the hand of the blond boy next to her go up. Rider pointed at him.

"To train," he answered quietly. "We're going to be teenage spies."

"Correct to a point, Lowe," Rider said, his eyes boring into him. "But spy isn't the word I would use. Spies focus on surveillance. You'll be doing much more than that."

"So what would you call us?" Lowe asked. He didn't sound intimidated, though Maggie thought he might be faking it. There was something about Rider that sent chills up her spine—and she wasn't one to admit that lightly.

"Special operatives," Rider said without pause. "Even if they tell you that you'll only be doing surveillance, it isn't true. You will be required to uncover plots, sure, but you'll also be required to stop them. You can never be caught by off guard—you have to have an option for every situation."

He stood up, and Maggie would've missed the little grimace of pain if she hadn't been looking for something just like it. His teeth clenched and his eyes closed for the briefest second before he opened them again. He was looking right at her.

"Carson," he said, looking at her. She fought the urge to look away from his gaze. Something about it was off-putting. "You're one of the two people here with family still alive."

It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. She wondered who the other person was. Suddenly, Rider moved, making a knife appear out of thin air at the same moment he grabbed the girl sitting in the front row, pulling her over her desk.

Maggie had barely finished processing his sentence before he had a knife at the girl's throat. She looked young and terrified, with reddish brown hair and a quivering jaw. Maggie tensed. She also looked eerily like her younger sister, Liz.

"What would you do if this was your sister, Carson?" he asked, tightening his grip around the struggling girl's torso. "How would you fight me off?"

Maggie could picture the scene all too well. A dark ally, a mugger hidden in the shadows. Or a group of men, ignoring her fists and nails as they cheered one another on. Liz in the centre of their circle. Blood on her face and in her hair and on her fists. It was all her own. Oliver, slumped unconscious but looking dead next to the dumpster on the opposite wall. Will and Lucy gone, running. Her sister, cowering in a ball, too small to fight them off as they closed in on her.

Her fists tightened, and she felt the skin break. "I would kill you," she said, not caring if her voice quavered. "With my bare hands."

"How?" Rider asked, moving the knife the slightest bit. A thin line of blood appeared on the girl's neck. "Do you know how to kill without a weapon? When your opponent is armed?"

Maggie was too angry to answer. After a long pause, someone spoke up. "A front heel across the kneecap," a small voice said, "to break it and end the fight. You would need surgery to correct it. Or a front snap to the lower back. That could permanently cripple you. If she really wanted you dead, she could do a front snap to the throat. That would smash your throat and your Adam's apple and most likely kill you.

Maggie took her eyes off of Rider and the girl to look at her saviour. She mentally kicked herself. She had gotten too lost in flashbacks to answer correctly, making her look like an idiot.

It was a very small girl—she didn't look like she could be any older than ten. With her dark brown skin and hair in braids, she looked perfectly innocent. It didn't match the encyclopaedia methods of killing she had just spouted. Great. She had just been shown up by a ten year old.

Rider let go of the girl. Maggie let out a sigh of relief she hadn't even known she'd been holding. The other girl glared deeply at Rider, wiping off her neck, before sitting back down.

"Very nice, Townsend," Rider said to the small girl, putting his knife away. But the first thing you should try and do is get his knife out of the picture. If you're the only one without weapons, it won't end well no matter how skilled you are."

Maggie finally let her hands loosen. Wiping the blood from the little crescent shapes on her palms on her pants before looking back to Rider, she nearly missed the look he sent her, darkly appraising. She glared back fiercely. Let him think of her what he would based on that dismal performance, but she wasn't one to back off.

"Break off into groups," he said suddenly, looking away. "Two groups of four and one with three. You're going to learn how to disarm a single opponent."

Maggie looked around her. There was the blond boy sitting next to her, and the little girl a few rows in front of her. She pursed her lips. She wasn't exactly very social.

"Would you like to be in my group?" she heard. She turned her head toward the blond boy, who shrugged at her. "I'm Aaron, by the way."

"Maggie," she said, scooting her desk closer to his. He looked nice enough—smart, too. It couldn't hurt to pair up with him.

The little girl was making her way toward them, trailing a fit, tan boy. "Got room for two more?" she asked, brightly. Maggie glanced at Aaron, who nodded.

"Sure," Maggie said, a little reluctantly. "And thanks, I guess," she said awkwardly to the other girl. "For helping me out."

She shrugged. "I'm Grace," she said, holding out her hand. "From what I can gather, this is Luke. He doesn't talk much." Maggie was grateful she didn't seem inclined to rub it in. She hated being made a fool of.

"You two know each other?" Aaron asked, surprised.

She shrugged again. "Not really. We were in the same home for a little while."

Maggie looked up at Luke, who nodded at her. She fought the urge to blush. He was cute. It had been a while since she had seen many boys who weren't her brothers. But she wasn't going to act an idiot just because she had seen a cute boy. She had embarrassed herself enough that day.

"Your number one friend in a knife fight is distance," Rider said suddenly. "If they can't reach you, they can't stab you. But remember, you'll usually have to disarm them. You can't do that by running away. Your number two friend in a knife fight is speed. You have to attack before he can interpret your intentions and react to them..."

Maggie listened intently. For all she hadn't liked his earlier methods, she couldn't argue that he was a decent teacher.

She couldn't help the shiver that ran through her. This was it. She was training to become a spy; a 'special operative' as he had put it. Never again would she be defenceless. There was no going back now.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Week three of my self-imposed updating schedule and I'm doing pretty well, I think. For anyone who doesn't read my LiveJournal (quite a lot of people, I would think :P—if you're interested, it's the homepage link on my profile), I'm trying out a new thing. I will update one of my stories (no guarantees on which one it will be) every week, before midnight on Sunday. The first two weeks were my Firm story, Divergences. Which story would you like it to be next week? (No promises here, but if you're clamoring to see something in particular, let me know!)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.**

**

* * *

**

Four days later, Maggie was wishing she had never gotten into this mess. Screw the fact that now her siblings were off the streets—she hurt all over. At nights she wanted to curl up and die, but if Grace—who was actually 12, not ten, and just looked small—could muscle through it, then _damn it_, so could she.

It was the morning of the fourth day that Rider told them they'd be leaving the classroom. She inwardly thanked God, though she was of the opinion that praying didn't do shit. The blank walls of the classroom and the bunk room had started to look like a prison, and she wanted out.

He didn't tell them where they were going, just told them to act normal. The louder, chattier ones seemed to get excited—Grace and the redhead, Olivia, in particular.

"_Normal_," she scoffed to Aaron. "What the hell is normal?"

Rider appeared behind her. She jumped just a little bit. "Normal: not different, usual. Act like a teenager, Carson. If I can do it, you sure as hell can."

She scowled at him when he turned his back, and Aaron held in a snort. "Not sure if that's the best idea, antagonizing the teacher."

Filing out with their peers—she thought she finally had all the names down—she replied. "It's not antagonizing. I'm just trying to find a vent for my frustration."

He laughed. They were being led through the basement of the building, but Maggie had no idea where they were going. Hopefully outside. She felt as if she hadn't seen the sun in years, and it was making her claustrophobic.

After a few minutes, they approached a set of stairs. Here Maggie saw the first adult since her first day: a fat, smiling man waddling down the stairs, clutching the handrail so hard his knuckles were white.

"Alex!" He was panting.

She was surprised to see the ghost of a smile flit across Rider's face. "Smithers. What are you doing all the way down here?"

Clutching at his chest, the man known as Smithers took several gasping breaths. "Looking for you, m'boy. I heard you...er, _lost_ your last detonator. I thought I'd give you a new one."

Something small passed between their hands. "Thanks Smithers. I probably won't need it for a while—I've been reassigned."

Smithers' face cleared. "Ah. I _knew_ there must have been a reason that broad up at reception kept telling me you were unavailable. I had to track you down myself!"

"Thanks, Smithers. Next time, just call, all right? I'll go to you."

The fat man patted Rider's back. "Will do, chap." He looked at the stairs in dismay before turning back to Rider. "Say, do you know if there's a lift down here?"

Rider smiled—actually smiled. Maggie looked at Aaron with a raised eyebrow, which he returned. Rider had been nothing but unpleasant to them since they'd been there. She hadn't known he had a soul. "Over there," he pointed. "Take the first left and then the second right."

"Thanks, m'boy." He looked at the rest of them as if for the first time. "Good luck, you lot." He winked and waddled off.

Rider turned back to them, the emotion that had been on his face long gone. "We're taking the underground. Act like teenagers. Separate into smaller groups. If anyone looks at you funny, make something up. I'm going to be evaluating you."

Maggie was tempted to ask "On what?" but she knew better. The only reason they were re-entering the real world was so that Rider could test them on what they'd been learning—how to be inconspicuous. Maggie was much better at fading into the background than she was at using her fists.

They took the stairs that Smithers had emerged from and ended up at an emergency exit. Rider pushed open the door into bright sunlight, unusual for London. It was unseasonably warm outside, and as Maggie squinted and started walking, she wished she'd worn something with short sleeves.

They staggered themselves, trying not to appear too obvious. Heading for the nearest tube station, Rider shepherded them. Maggie couldn't help but look back at him—but he wasn't looking at her. He looked like a kid on his way to work, hurried and none-too-happy. She had to at least give him that—he was good pretending.

Well, so was she. Wiping her normal scowl from her face, she sidled up to Aaron, grabbing his hand. "Hey babe!"

He jumped a little and gave her a funny look, but then seemed to get it. He pulled her closer. "Hey to you too."

She laughed. This was going to be easier than she thought. Up ahead, she tried to tell what groups they had split into. Chloe, the quietest one and the one that Maggie noticed least, had headphones in her ears and wasn't talking to anyone. Lee, Charlie and Ben were roughhousing; shoving one another and kicking an empty can down the sidewalk. Grace, the littlest one, had paired up with Olivia, the redhead, and was chatting with her. Something told Maggie (and it wasn't just the extensive knowledge of fatal karate moves) that Grace was a force to be reckoned with. She would have to watch her.

It called to mind a lesson from the second day. _Never underestimate anyone. It could be, and most likely _will_ be, fatal. Treat everyone you meet on a mission like they're more skilled than you. You'll find yourself being more careful, and if things _do _come to a confrontation, you won't be surprised._

Rider had directed his next words in Wood's direction. _Overconfidence kills. Tread carefully._

Jack Wood and Luke were walking alongside one another but not speaking. Maggie frowned. That looked so unnatural, which was exactly opposite the point of this exercise.

"Hey," Aaron nudged her and whispered, "want to make them a part of our group? They look sort of awkward just walking."

She grinned. He had read her mind. "I don't think Luke knows how to talk, but sure." They sped up and Aaron let go of her hand so he could punch Jack in the shoulder.

Jack didn't react well. He turned and grabbed Aaron by the neck, his face livid. Maggie froze; her heart in her throat. Jack looked mad with his ruddy face and glaring eyes. But something seemed to stop him—he was focused on something behind her. Maggie didn't turn around; it was probably just Rider. Instead she hurried up to them.

"Jack, leave him alone! He was just joking!" She had to protect her boyfriend, after all. And her interests. People were starting to look at them funny. Grimacing, Jack let go, nodding at Rider as he passed. Jack turned around and started to walk again, saying nothing.

"Hey!" Maggie grabbed his forearm, noticing as she did that he had muscles—very large, powerful-looking muscles. But it was too late to back out. "Apologize, Jack!"

"Mags, he doesn't have to," Aaron protested, putting his arm around her shoulder. He looked at Jack. "I just won't do it again."

Jack made an attempt at a smile, but it looked more frightening than conciliatory. "Nah, I'm sorry. I overreacted." They kept walking and Maggie breathed out an invisible sigh of relief. Crisis averted.

They went into the underground, Maggie just barely able to see their group of rowdy boys boarding the latest train. "We're going to miss it!"

Aaron and Maggie linked hands again and made it in just after Luke and Jack, moments before the doors closed. Faces flushed, they laughed and the boys pushed one another. Something rose in her chest. They were doing so well, riffing off of one another and improvising. Maybe Rider would finally forget about her dismal performance from the first day, instead of bringing it up every five seconds. She was, after all, a much better actress than she was a fighter. Acting was how you survived on the streets. Fighting was a last resort.

A few stops later, the train emptied of everyone but their group. Rider immediately opened his eyes and lifted his head from where he had been pretending to sleep. "Good job. Now I've got something a bit harder."

They all waited expectantly, and Rider's eyes roamed around the group. "You're going to separate by group, getting off at different stops. I want you to shoplift something. Whoever lifts the most expensive item gets a rest in training tomorrow. Don't get arrested—if you do you're on your own. And kicked out."

Kicked out of the program. Maggie didn't know what she would do—it had only been four days. How humiliating would it be to go back to her siblings after only four days, telling them that not only had she failed, she had been arrested?

But Maggie was good at shoplifting. That was how she 'shopped' all the time. That was how her whole family 'shopped.' You just had to be careful. You wouldn't get caught unless you made stupid mistakes.

The train came to a halt again, and Rider stood up. Instantly their masks were back on, Maggie and Aaron linking hands and playing the perfect couple.

"I'll be here," she heard Rider say from ahead of her, stepping out of the train. "Come back to this spot when you're done."

They petered off in different directions without giving any indication that they had heard him. Emerging from the Underground was like entering a whole new world. Maggie hadn't paid attention to the stops on the train, but they surfaced at the Marble Arch Tube station, on Oxford Street. Oxford Street was arguably the most high-end shopping district in London, one of those places that rich people shopped.

Maggie looked down. She was wearing a sweatshirt and her most comfortable pair of jeans, with a pair of sensible trainers. She didn't look like she belonged here. That was the first problem—you had to look like you had a purpose when you shoplifted, and shopkeepers and clerks were immediately suspicious of those who looked unfamiliar.

She would have to make do. "Here." She stripped her sweatshirt off and handed it to Aaron. The blue plain tee she was wearing underneath wasn't anything fancy, but it was better than what she'd had on before. "Hold this for me."

He looked at her with amusement written clearly on his face. "I take it you've got a plan, then?"

She laughed and took his hand again. "Yeah. I've got a plan."

-:-

It took her a while to find the right shop. But once she did, she knew it was perfect. It wasn't too high-class, so they didn't look out of place, but at the same time, there were items that would be perfect to lift. She and Aaron browsed for a while, careful to make themselves look at home. It was helpful that Aaron looked so...perfect.

She hadn't really noticed it much before, but Aaron was very attractive. His blond shaggy hair and smile dazzled girls all around, attracting many a jealous look in Maggie's direction. The clerk at the counter looked up as the bells hanging above the door jingled, but did nothing more than smile in their direction. Maggie was thankful. The tart at the last store had followed them around, asking if they needed any help, which was of course the exact opposite of what they needed.

It was a small shop, which made things slightly more difficult, but there were things all over the place that were just ripe for the taking. A small table full of jewellery—Maggie took one look at the price of a pair of earrings and was tempted slam them on the table and back away slowly—small and intricately beaded handbags, tall racks of impractical shoes...there were plenty of options.

She and Aaron meandered for a few minutes, sure to pick a few things up to try on.

Aaron only lasted a few minutes before he leaned in to whisper in her ear. "What are we doing?"

"We're taking our time." She turned away from his lips and lifted a shirt—cute, but not something she'd ever wear—to inspect.

"I've got that part, thanks." Aaron's voice was still quiet, but no longer a whisper. There was no one in the shop other than the clerk. "But why?"

Maggie slung the shirt over her arm and made her way to the shoes. She, on the other hand, kept her voice low, standing on tiptoe to speak into his ear. Hopefully it looked romantic and not suspicious. "The more time you spend in a shop, the more the clerk looks at you more as a customer and less as a potential shoplifter."

It was almost like she could hear the cogs in his brain clicking. "Ah. So we're gaining their trust?"

She nodded and pretended to browse the rack with her size, picking up a few to try on. "We'll buy something, too. Then they think of us as customers. We'll be fine."

In the end she settled on a pair of expensive earrings as the target—they must have had real jewels in there somewhere, because they cost a fortune—and a small pack of headbands as the decoy. They must have been the cheapest thing in the store.

Maggie, earrings in hand, grabbed Aaron's hand, apparently to drag him up to the register. They approached the counter and released hands, Aaron now holding the earrings. Maggie smiled at the clerk, handing over the headbands and a few bills.

"Is that all?"

Maggie sighed. "Yes. I don't get my paycheque until Friday." She stole a longing glance at the rest of the store. "I'll be back, though. That blouse was just perfect."

The clerk smiled at her and handed her the receipt. "Thank you very much for your patronage. Maybe I'll see you here again!"

Maggie and Aaron both smiled at the young woman before exiting the store hand in hand. Maggie could feel Aaron's pulse racing.

"Jesus, calm down. We did perfect."

Aaron let out a breath. "Sorry. 'M not exactly used to this sort of thing."

"Good thing you've got me, then, isn't it?"

He squeezed her hand. "Yeah. Good thing I've got you." He stopped suddenly, yanking her back with him.

"Hey! What the hell?"

The corner of Aaron's lip turned up. "Sorry." He paused. "I just..." He let out a huff of air with a frustrated tone. And then he leaned down, planting his lips on hers.

It was over before she even had the chance to register the feeling. He straightened, leaving Maggie to stare at him in disbelief. He smiled down at her. "Thanks."

Maggie let out some sort of strangled noise. "Thanks?" she mouthed. And then he was walking again, his hand still wrapped around hers. She could feel his pulse racing.

Their walk back to the station was silent. When they entered the Underground, they sat on a bench against the wall, a few feet from Rider. He didn't look at them, just twirled the click wheel on his iPod. Aaron took the earrings out of his pocket and held them out to Maggie.

She took them wordlessly. Her ears had been pierced a long time ago—she didn't wear much jewellery these days. But the sparkly purple and gold things slid in easily, and she took the backs from where they rested in Aaron's warm hand. He pocketed the container they had come in; saving the price tag, no doubt.

The others trickled in slowly. Chloe, the quiet one, sat down on Rider's other side and sat cross-legged on the bench with her headphones in. Maggie wondered what she'd pocketed.

Wood—_Jack_, Maggie told herself—and Luke arrived next, coming to sit next to Maggie and Aaron. The three boys started a conversation that she paid no attention to, preferring to watch the rest of the group arrive.

Olivia shepherded Grace into the station, both of them laughing. They stood, not making eye contact with any of the others. Lee, Charlie and Ben weren't far behind. They entered the station just as loud as they had left it, garnering disapproving looks from those in the station with grey hairs.

They all boarded the next train. Maggie leaned on Aaron's shoulder, pretending to sleep. He wrapped an arm around her and she tried to ignore how warm it was. He and Luke and Jack talked about nothing of consequence—of football, grades and annoying siblings. Maggie's heart ached for them. She was pretty sure that all of their siblings—if they had had any in the first place, which she was pretty sure Aaron, at least, hadn't—were dead.

Aaron roused her a few stops later, and she made sure to open her eyes slowly, in case there were still people on the train. An elderly woman sitting across from her smiled as Maggie stood. Maggie raised her lips in response, blinking the 'sleep' from her eyes.

Rider was seated next to the old woman. Maggie was interested to see that his eyes were scrunched tightly shut, as if her were in pain. After a moment, he stood. Maggie could see the pain in his eyes, though he did a remarkable job of concealing it everywhere else.

They departed the train with several businesspeople, still careful to remain in separate groups. In another few minutes of walking, they approached the bank's back entrance, passing several men in black suits who nodded as they went past.

Re-entering the halls made her feel claustrophobic again. Her new earrings jangled as she took her regular seat, the cold and unforgiving metal making her wince.

"All right," Rider said, entering the room. "Let's see what you've got."


	5. Chapter 5

AN: I've been cruel to this story in terms of updates. I really do love it, but sometimes it's just hard to write, you know? I want it to be perfect. For those of you who are curious, I have two short stories that are prequels to this: _No Signs of Weakness_ and _Over the Edge. _If you want to know why Alex is so cold, I would suggest you read those. (Of course, a little more will be revealed later…) Please enjoy!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.**

* * *

They settled into their regular seats, Aaron reluctantly separating himself from Maggie. Maggie wasn't sure how she felt about his sudden attachment to her. She wasn't sure how she felt about his sudden kiss. If he started clinging to her, then there would be problems.

She pulled the earrings—sparkling under the glare of the fluorescents—out of her ears. She saw the others doing the same with an odd assortment of things. Olivia seemed to be pulling, of all things, a lace _bra_ from her pocket, and Chloe a small bottle of perfume. Lee pulled a small square something from deep in his pocket. From her angle, Maggie couldn't see what it was. Charlie and Ben laughed, and Lee blushed. Wood and Luke were conspiring over a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses.

Maggie frowned. The competition would be closer than she had expected.

Rider watched them all from his desk, his expression faraway and almost sentimental. Maggie filed that information away for later. Something about shoplifting brought back good memories. She couldn't even bring herself to be shocked. The more time she spent around their "teacher," the less his bizarre responses surprised her. _Expect the unexpected_ was a trite idiom, but it fit nonetheless.

Aaron smiled over at her as Rider cleared his throat. For some reason, Maggie found herself blushing. She noticed absently that Aaron had a very nice smile.

"It looks like every group got something, at least. Good. I want to see price tags and products." He stood, walking down the aisle of desks with a grace that almost made him look like he was floating. He approached Charlie, Ben and Lee. "Well," he said, and compared to the three of them—none of them older than 14—he looked imposing, "what did you get?"

Lee pulled out the square. Maggie could see now that it was a picture frame of some sort, of a shiny and metallic silver. "Lifted this from an art gallery. With the print inside, its worth 125 pounds." Ben and Charlie puffed out their chests.

Next to her, Aaron whistled his appreciation. "You were caught, though." Rider said, his voice flat. His face was blank, but Lee flinched from the accusation.

"Yeah," he said. "I was caught. It was the diversion." Maggie caught the desperate lie in his voice. It hadn't been a diversion at all—Lee had just been caught. She knew immediately that Rider saw this too, but their instructor kept his voice devoid of emotion.

"I said if you were arrested you would be kicked out. It's only thanks to luck that you weren't." He paused. "Creative excuse, but next time, try harder. For that little episode, I'm only counting half of your price. Your good is now worth 63 pounds." He glanced around the room, at the expensive and unnecessary items that littered the desks. "It won't get you kicked out, but you probably won't win."

Charlie and Ben deflated, casting angry looks at Lee. The boy looked crushed. Maggie wondered if they would have won. Her earrings were only worth 99 pounds, with white gold and tiny, sparkling gems.

Rider moved on. Olivia and Grace were the proud owners of a piece of lingerie. "How much?" Rider asked, his eyebrow raised. The two girls looked at one another and immediately burst out into giggles.

"T-twenty five pounds," Grace managed to get out. She dissolved into laugher once more, and Rider shook his head before leaving them. The two girls had lost, but they didn't seem to mind. Maggie envied them their fun.

Jack and Luke were next. Jack wore a classic pair of aviator sunglasses. "Ray Bans," Aaron whispered next to her. "Ridiculously expensive. I wonder how they got at them…they're usually locked up."

As Rider approached, Jack removed the glasses with a heavy smirk. "One hundred and fifteen pounds," he declared, as if confident that no one would beat that price.

Rider nodded. "Good." He said nothing else, but moved to Maggie and Aaron. Maggie held out the earrings while Aaron announced the price—just under 100 pounds. They wouldn't win, but it was nice to be in second, at least. Maggie's sore muscles protested the loss. A break from training—even if it was just for a day—sounded like heaven.

Chloe was the last to go, her perfume bottle delicately perched on the desk. Maggie thought the bottle looked somehow familiar: it was cut crystal (or at least something that _looked_ like crystal) filled with an amber fragrance and topped off with an ornate diamond stopper.

For once, Chloe didn't wait for Rider's prompting to speak. "Chanel N 5," she said, quiet pride obvious in her voice. "One hundred and," here she paused—if Maggie hadn't known the girl to be so quiet, she would have said the pause was meant for dramatic effect—"thirty five pounds."

The effect was immediate. Maggie watched in glee as the smug look on Jack's face slipped right off. Aaron laughed out loud, leaning back in his desk. He shot Maggie a winning smile.

Rider nodded. "Good. Look's like you're free tomorrow. Stay in bed…or not. I'm sure there are books lying around here somewhere."

Chloe nodded, the ghost of a smile on her face. Maggie noticed for the first time how pretty the girl was—she appeared plain at first glance, with her stringy brown hair and mostly unremarkable face, perfect for blending into a crowd—but the smile almost made her glow.

Rider walked back to his desk, standing behind it and leaning over. "Well," Rider said, and they all quieted down, "You did much better than I expected."

She leaned over to Aaron. "That's the closest we're ever going to get to a compliment, I think."

Aaron again smiled, flashing his perfect white teeth. "Don't get used to it."

* * *

The rest of the day was spent reviewing what they had learned—essentially, how to survive any sort of situation where you were on the wrong end of the weapon. They paired up and took turns as assailant and victim, using whatever skills they could muster to try and win. Aaron had a hard time being the attacker. He was fine with the knife, but when it came time to put a gun in his hand, his performance was suddenly lacklustre.

"Hand it over," he said weakly, forcing the cool, metal (and empty) barrel against Maggie's temple. "C'mon, turn out your pockets."

Maggie's eyes were filled with crocodile tears, a technique that Rider encouraged. _"Take advantage of whatever you have. Girls, you need to be able to cry on command. Faced with tears, men pause. Use that pause to gain the upper hand—it might save your life someday."_ She let out a fake sob.

"T-that's all, that's all I h-have!" she cried. "I s-swear!"

Aaron looked miserable. Maggie almost felt bad when she dodged left, grabbing the hammer of the gun. She twisted the gun counter clockwise, and it almost fell right out of Aaron's hand. She kicked it away. Maggie moved closer to him and pivoted to the right, twisting his wrist. Applying some specific pressure to his wrist and continuing to twist, Maggie was able to knock him over quickly. In just a few seconds, Aaron was on the ground, with Maggie's knee poised threateningly on his ribcage.

He groaned when she stood, wiping her hands on her pants. "I'm never going to get the hang of that," he said, shaking his head and twisting his wrist around.

"I think the better question is: are you ever going to get used to holding a gun?" Rider seemed to come out of nowhere, but he was suddenly standing in between the two of them. They both jumped. Maggie glanced curiously at Aaron. He looked almost ill. Suddenly, he collapsed backwards, onto a nearby desk. Maggie twitched, as if to move closer, but stayed where she stood.

Rider shot Aaron an unreadable look. When he spoke, his voice was almost understanding: "Everyone here has issues, Lowe. Find a way to get over yours. In the field, you'll probably have to handle guns every once and a while. Get used to that fact."

With that, he walked away. Maggie wanted to walk over to Aaron, to somehow comfort him. He lifted her mood just by smiling at her—shouldn't she be able to do the same for him? But at the same time, she found herself frozen. She wasn't the comforting type. On the streets, she focused more on keeping her brothers and sisters alive. Elizabeth, her younger sister, was their mother. She held Lucy when she cried; she comforted Oliver when things looked bleaker than usual; she helped Will fall asleep when all they could find to sleep in for the night was a back alley. She and Maggie were a team, and without Lizzy, Maggie wasn't sure what to do.

Aaron had his head in his hands. Something in Maggie broke, and she moved closer to him. "You all right, Aaron?"

He sighed, and when he looked back up at her his eyes were solemn. "My dad died about a year ago. My—he died from a gunshot wound."

Maggie sat down next to him, tentatively taking his hand. He latched onto her, gripping her fingers tightly. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

He let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Not your fault." It came out bitter. His hold on her hand seemed to tighten. She stole a glance around the room. Everyone was busy practicing. As she watched, Lee knocked Charlie's gun out of his hands.

"Still," she said. "I'm sorry. My parents died a long time ago, but I remember how it feels."

Aaron rubbed his thumb along Maggie's hand, making sparks run up her arm. "Thanks," he said. He let go of her hand, and Maggie was surprised to find that she missed the feeling. "We should probably get started again, Rider's glaring in our direction."

Maggie let out a laugh. "It's my turn now. You'll never get this gun away from me!"

* * *

Alex Rider watched his class with a mixed sense of pride and overwhelming dread. They were getting better. He could see how they would be useful in the field. No one would ever suspect tiny Grace of passing along sensitive intel, or pale and scrawny Olivia of being capable of hacking into the most sophisticated computer systems in the world. Maggie and Jack Wood looked tough, but they were still young. They could easily infiltrate drug rings or spend time undercover.

It made him sick.

* * *

I found all of the prices of things by looking at actual Oxford Street shops online. If you're interested in the conversions, here's what I have: 125 British pounds is a little more than 200 American dollars (63 pounds, then, is about 103 dollars); 99 pounds is a little more than 160 dollars; 25 pounds is a little less than 40 dollars; 115 pounds is a little less than 188 dollars; and 135 pounds is about 220 dollars.

The move Maggie makes to disarm Aaron can be seen here: http (:) //alonline (dot) org/2006/09/26/how-to-disarm-a-gunman-at-close-range/. It's a pretty cool-looking move, if you want to check it out.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: My first fanfiction update in almost a year! My, how the time flies. Forgive me. (and maybe review?)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.**

* * *

Maggie felt stronger than she had in her entire life. She could almost consistently disable everyone in the class and she was getting better at preventing them from disabling _her_. Little Grace was a particular challenger in that department.

"C'mon, Maggie!" Aaron cheered for her on the sidelines. Maggie was too busy sweating to smile. A few others let out cheers, but mostly they were curious. Grace, with her braids pulled back, had years of practice on her side. Maggie only had determination and the past few weeks of training.

So far she had stayed in the fight with simple blocks, but Grace was fast and her hits came hard. If Maggie didn't go on the offensive soon, she would be too tired to win. A kick flew toward her face, and Maggie barely missed it. An idea struck her instead. Taking advantage of the smaller girl's lack of balance, Maggie flew forward. One thing that being the oldest of four had taught her was how to fight dirty.

Grace threw another punch that Maggie blocked with her forearm. Maggie threw all of her weight onto Grace, pinning her down. The tiny girl—she reminded Maggie sometimes of a bird—squirmed, but Maggie had another trick up her sleeve. She grabbed Grace's ponytail and manoeuvred her so that she was on her stomach. A happy grunt escaped her—no way Grace could escape this hold!

She spoke too soon. Even with her hair still in Maggie's palm, Grace wiggled her way out so quickly Maggie didn't have time to act. A quick punch to her kidney, and Maggie was the one squirming on the floor. Grace put her foot on her chest, and she let her head hit the ground.

Rider signalled the end of the fight.

"Grace wins this round. Nice work. Both of you did well to remember your advantages against your opponent. And you know I don't have a problem with fighting dirty." This was said to Maggie, who took it as a compliment.

Today had been partnered fights, Rider pitting up those he saw as near equals—whether it be in size, technique, or skill. It wasn't usually the case, but today the girls had fought each other while the boys did the same. Rider had been calling the fights as they came, so you didn't know who you were fighting until it was go time.

Maggie collapsed onto a folding chair off the mats. She grabbed her water bottle and lifted the neck of her shirt a few times to fan herself. Aaron grinned at her exhaustion. His had been the first fight, against the stonily silent Luke. Both were new to hand-to-hand combat, and had ended up wrestling more than anything.

He leaned over to whisper in her ear. "Did you notice we're an odd number? Wood hasn't fought anyone yet."

Maggie smiled, but couldn't really bring herself to care. She grinned. "Maybe Rider'll make someone fight again—you know, to 'fight under subprime physical conditions.'" She nudged his shoulder, teasing. "I bet he'll make you do it, since you lost to Luke."

Rider cut off Aaron's groan. "Wood. Up on the mats, if you would."

Wood, who had somehow gotten even bigger since his arrival, grinned down at his fellow trainees. He had not yet lost a fight, and he brought it up at every possible opportunity.

"Who's gonna fight me, then? Do I go one-on-two? See if _two_ of these runts can't take me?"

Maggie noticed a few of the younger boys bristle, but Rider shook his head. "We haven't gotten to group fights. That'll come up eventually." Rider stepped onto the mat. "No, Wood, you'll be fighting me."

The room had already been quiet, but it seemed to still. Maggie held her breath. Her mind was suddenly filled with possibilities—how did Rider fight? Was he quick, like Charlie or Olivia or Grace? Or did he refuse to give up ground, like Luke or Josh or Wood himself?

Maggie no longer doubted that Rider knew his stuff. For nearly a month, he had taught them the ins and outs of everything from physical conflict to negotiation tactics. When they did their runs and their sit ups and lifted their weights, he did it alongside them. But never had he demonstrated like this; never had he actually _fought_ someone.

Wood looked surprised for half a second before a mask settled over his features. If asked, Maggie would have compared him to a bear: huge and angry. Rider was more like a leopard, she thought nonsensically.

"Now, this won't exactly be a fair fight," Rider said, and Maggie thought she saw Wood twitch. "I have years of experience on you, not to mention that you've never seen me fight when I already know your style. But I want you to try your _hardest_, all right Wood?"

Maggie was downright shocked at Rider's tone as he finished his sentence. It was almost as if he was trying to provoke Wood….

With a loud yell, Wood charged across the mat. It looked as though a train was about to collide with a brick wall, and Maggie wondered why Rider didn't _move already!_

Then she blinked. Rider had shifted behind Wood so quickly she missed it. Had he teleported or something? Wood turned furiously, throwing punches left and right. They were fast and accurate, but somehow they kept missing Rider, who hadn't yet thrown a single punch. Their instructor moved as smoothly as a dancer, Maggie thought, as she caught Aaron's incredulous eye.

The fight was mesmerizing, especially when Rider started throwing punches. Wood blocked some, but some went through. He seemed outraged by his forming bruises, given that he had yet to land any on Rider.

And yet Wood was not the interesting one in this fight, at least not to Maggie. For a man in a fight, Rider seemed calm, almost unaffected. His face lacked the tightness that usually occupied it. He looked more at peace now than she had ever seen him.

On and on it went. Neither seemed to be tiring. Rider delivered a roundhouse kick that connected solidly with Wood's chest, and finally he was knocked to his knees. Maggie thought the fight might be over, Wood gasping for breath, but he lunged forward to grab Rider around his knees. Their instructor toppled awkwardly on his shoulder, and Wood took advantage of the situation to spring to his feet.

Everyone in the room could see that Wood intended the next strike to be his last—a powerful kick that would connect with Rider's exposed back and likely his kidneys.

For once, Rider was not quite fast enough. Wood's enormous foot and the massive leg connected to it collided with his back, and Rider fell to the mat, still.

Wood stood straight, panting, glee slowly painting his face. Maggie almost couldn't believe it. He had beaten Rider. Clapping started to break out. She looked to her teacher, waiting in nervous anticipation to see his reaction—had this been his intention all along? Or was it a true victory?

But Rider wasn't moving. She punched Aaron's shoulder.

"I think something's wrong! Look at Rider!" Her boyfri—classmate—fellow trainee—leapt out of his chair along with her. Wood and his fan club did not seem to have noticed that their instructor was still motionless on the ground. She and Aaron rushed forward, but stopped when they were close enough to touch him. Maggie realized she had no idea what to do.

Aaron got down on his knees. "He's still breathing," he said quietly. Hesitantly, he put two fingers on his neck. "Steady pulse…he's alive, but I don't know what we should do from here…."

Rider had landed on his side, almost his chest. His shirt had ridden up, exposing some of his back. Morbid curiosity struck Maggie. Cautiously, she lifted it up a bit more, not sure what to expect. Had Wood's kick _broken_ something? She dropped the hem of his t-shirt almost involuntarily, falling backwards in shock.

The others were beginning to notice. They were chattering, surrounding Rider, and Maggie felt it hard to breathe. Aaron took charge.

"Maggie, get upstairs and tell someone. Preferably that Jones woman. Everyone else, back the fuck up!"

Thinking back on it later, she barely remembered finding Jones. She didn't know if she had taken the stairs, or the elevator, or if she had run into Jones or someone had fetched her. Her brain was hyper focused on one thing:

How had their teacher—their 18-year-old spy trainer—gotten whip scars on his back?

* * *

The bunkroom was usually quiet. Six bunk beds jutted out from one long wall, while the opposite held small chests of drawers. Their sheets were white and their blankets hospital-blue. If any of them had personal effects, they kept them privately to themselves, like Maggie did with her old family photo. After training, meals, and getting up at half past five, they barely had the energy to read, let alone gossip.

Tonight it sounded like a school lunchroom. Maggie had a headache. Rider had woken up right before she had arrived with Jones, and cancelled the rest of the day's training at once. No one could stop talking about it, Wood least of all.

"He thought he could beat me, and then I knocked him right on his arse!"

She hadn't been sure, but it appeared that she was the only one to have seen Rider's back. She didn't think the others would be acting like this—like it was some sort of school vacation—if they had seen. Maggie had only once seen such terrible scars, and it was in a book about slavery. She couldn't stop thinking about what could have caused them.

Aaron's head popped up next to her feet—she had the top bunk and Olivia had the bottom.

"Mind if I come up?"

She shook her head and sat up, hugging her pillow over her stomach. She watched him climb up, but her thoughts were a million miles away.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, very carefully not touching. Maggie knew that Aaron wanted to ask her what was wrong, but she didn't know what she would tell him.

Finally, she told him. "I checked his back, y'know, to make sure Wood hadn't broken something…." Her words petered off. She didn't know how to continue.

Aaron sidled up next to her so that the sides of their arms touched. "Nothing was broken…was it? He seemed okay when he woke up. Wanted me to get away right quick, anyway."

She shook her head. "He had scars, Aaron. Bad ones. I felt nauseas looking at them. Not from Wood," she added quickly, "These were old."

Aaron looked thoughtful. "I suppose a kick like that to a sensitive area could be intensely painful…but what kind of scars can make _you_ feel nauseas?" He nudged her. "You're so stoic."

Maggie couldn't smile. "They were whip scars, Aaron. Like the kinds you see in books on slavery." Suddenly, words were coming out in a rush. "I mean, he's only 18—three years older than us! How is he teaching us how to be spies? How does he have scarring from a _whip_? Have you paid attention to him sometimes? He winces, but just barely. Like he's in pain and he's hiding it from us—from the world."

Aaron was watching her carefully. She faltered, unsure of what to say. Again, they sat without speaking.

"I think," Aaron said slowly, "that Rider has been keeping secrets. And I think we ought to find out what they are."


End file.
